


Sealand the terrible uncle

by Strudelmugel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Heavy Drinking, Nationverse, Other, and pure concentrated banter, basically just shitposting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Strudelmugel
Summary: Sealand shows up at his ‘nephew’ Molossia’s house in the middle of the night to PULL SOME SICK PRANKS BRAH





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peteradnan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=peteradnan).



> Notes: Inspired by peteradnan. Basically Sealand is a terrible- but also cool in his eyes- uncle to Molossia. No pairings, but HuttMol and USUK are hinted, mostly for comedic effect. Slightly more effort than a crackfic, supposed to be humour, pretty much just shitposting. Also, warning for heavy use of alcohol, jokes that may be taken as offensive, and swearing.  
> Yeah I’m adding these two to a long list of characters I should never be allowed write again.
> 
> Also yeah I imagine Arthur has a ‘main’ house in London and a few dotted about the countryside for when he wants to get away from the city, including a few along the coast. I also like to imagine he has two dogs.

Molossia swore he heard a bump somewhere in the garden. And a burp. And a groan.

He really was America’s little brother, wasn’t he? Seriously, one horror film later and he was as paranoid as a turkey the week before thanksgiving. The best thing to do, in all seriousness, would be to forget it just happened, stop eating cold pizza in his boxers in the early hours of the morning, and go the fuck to sleep. He was just sleep-deprived and a little spooked, that was all.

But Molossia decided not to do that.

He did, however, shuffle to the other end of the couch to grab one of his many broomball brooms as a weapon. Just in case. That bitchass monster better not try anything or it was getting fisted with a broom handle!

Of course, he didn’t quite have it in him to investigate a noise he wasn’t even sure he’d heard, so just continued watching Doctor Who reruns like the nerdy teaboo he was. Again, very scary and not the best late night viewing experience. But if he stopped watching now he’d just be proving he was a weenie, and if there was one thing he, the Republic of Molossia, wasn’t, it was a Goddamn weenie!

When he heard a thundering thump and a string of curses, though, he knew he couldn’t ignore his inevitable bloody death any longer.

Broom clutched firmly in front of his chest, Molossia moved off the couch, trying to ignore the trembling in his legs and the fact that literally anyone who had ever done this in a horror movie had met a gruesome end. He would- somehow- be the first to live through this cliche and get the better of his attacker.

Hopefully.

The broom was now raised above his head as he opened the front door, practically inviting the unknown threat into his home.

“Come at me you punkass murderin’ sonovabitch!”

“Hey, hey, woah,” an unsteady figure raised their hands in surrender, “put that thing down before you hurt someone, kid.”

“Oh fuck off Sealand and leave me alone,” Molossia spat on autopilot, before adding, also on autopilot: “Oh hell America sorry I thought you were-”

“Yeah, no, you were right the first time.”

Molossia blinked. “Really? In that case, fuck off Sealand!”

“Seriously? An eight hour flight and this is how you treat me?” Sealand just barged past before Molossia even had a chance to reply. The little micronation smelt strongly of whiskey and other potent liquors Molossia couldn’t quite place, and looked ready to drop if he was honest.

“They let you on the plane in that state?” Deciding the brat was here to stay, Molossia simply shut the door and followed him into the sitting room.

“You can turn that Brit shit off for a start,” Sealand muttered as he fumbled with the remote, finally succeeding in turning the device off. “And what? No, I didn’t get on a plane drunk, but they were selling it on the plane, plus the duty frees at Southend airport, you know. Hey, one drink up in the air is equal to two at sea level; how crazy is that? Two for ones! Can’t say ‘no’ to a bargain like that!”

Molossia raised an eyebrow. “You actually got served alcohol?”

“Yeah, got ID. Why wouldn’t I? Scotland sorted it for me because if we put my real age on it everyone would think it was fake, so it says I’m nineteen. Nice and believable.”

“Sure… but are you aware that in most parts of the USA- that country you just travelled through to get to me-, you have to be twenty one to drink?”

“Completely aware, kid. I had to drive the hire car all the way to Arizona first just to top up my supply!”

“You drunk drove all the way to Arizona?” Molossia exclaimed, fighting the urge to throw this idiot micronation out the window.

“What? I didn’t hit anyone. There wasn’t anyone to hit, besides this dead hitchhiker I drove past. And I’m just as much the victim here! I mean, I, the great Principality of Sealand had to buy home-distilled whiskey from a run down shack from this toothless guy that smelt of weed and looked like he was going to cut me into bits and stuff those bits in his fridge!”

“And you drive back here even more drunk than before?” Molossia wasn’t sure why he was entertaining the story of a criminal that didn’t have any permission to be here and hadn’t notified him of this visit at least two weeks in advance. Though to be fair, he was probably still travelling here two weeks ago.

“Pretty much. The car’s outside.”

“Good. Get in it and fuck off then!” Yes, the responsible thing to do would be to keep Sealand here just to make sure he couldn’t harm himself or others, and to look after him whilst he was in this state. But right now he couldn’t give a shit, and was perfectly within his rights to deport this dangerous criminal from his country.

“I’ve not even been here five minutes and you’re kicking me out? How rude. This is why you’re not a real country.”

“Yes, you’re drunk and disorderly. And in my country you cannot consume alcohol until it is the third Tuesday of the second month after the first Spring Equinox that comes at least 1095 days after your 18th birthday, with variations-”

“I’m 73 and was born in World War two; I’ll drink as much as I want! Also your laws are stupid and you have too much time on your hands. Honestly, kids these days…”

“Oh, right,” Molossia sighed, “I forget how old you are sometimes.”

“I do too. You know, because I’m 73. And an alcoholic.”

“Look, what the hell are you doing here and what do you want?”

Sealand grabbed Molossia by the arm, forcing him to sit on the couch once more, though honestly Molossia was surprised he hadn’t collapsed onto it already. “Thought you’d never ask. So there I was, watching our Lord and saviour Spongebob Squarepants-”

“Seriously?”

Sealand slapped the back of his head. “Don’t disrespect your elders, and don’t interrupt me!”

Rubbing the lump on the back of his head, Molossia gave a pained groan. “Right.”

“Anyway, there I was just having a think, about my brothers and family and stuff. And I thought about how you’re Mr America’s brother, right?”

“Right.”

“And how America is sorta England’s son.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, and I’m England’s brother. So does that make you my nephew?”

“Fucking no-”

“I think it does! Anyway-”

“America hasn’t seen himself as England’s relative in years,” Molossia explained, “I thought you knew that. And even when they were they were more brothers than parent and child. And besides, if they’re so related, how come they were caught doing… stuff? You know, in the cupboard of that world meeting one time?”

Peter raised his hands. “Hey, I never said this family was- was functional, and you’re one to talk!” He gave a loud belch before continuing. “I have more than one nephew, y’know? And another one of my many nephews is a certain Principality of Hutt River. You two are, like, cousins or something.”

“No we’re not,” Molossia snapped.

“You lowkey are- you- you are though. Oh my God, you’re dating your cousin? That’s a bit Norfolk, isn’t it?”

“What?”

Peter rubbed his chin. “Oh, right, Alabama? That’s the butt of inbreeding jokes here, right? Either way, you’re dating your cousin.”

“I am not!”

“You know who else were cousins? Hitler’s parents.”

“What the fuck?”

“Or was it uncle and niece? Not to mention, one was waaaay older than the other. And isn’t Hutt, like, in his forties? Good grief!”

“Shut up and get out of my house!”

“Alright, I’ll stop talking about it. Just… don’t have any kids. That’s all I’m saying.”

Molossia buried his face in his hands. “Please leave.”

“Right, good idea.” Another belch, and he was up off the couch. “Get your coat, and some trousers, and let’s go.”

Molossia wanted him gone, and he had no idea why Peter had travelled all this way to fetch him, but he wasn’t interested in coming along in the slightest. “No,” he stated firmly. “I’m not going.”

Peter blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Why would I? All you’ve done is talk about Hitler and incest and you still haven’t told me why exactly you’re here.”

Well, that got him thinking for a moment. “Oh, right. I never actually finished my story. You and Butt River are just that icky.”

“Fuck you.”

“But yeah as your official Cool Uncle,” Peter continued, “I decided it was my duty to take you out for a fun day of pranks and goodies.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” muttered Molossia.

“Well fuck your timezones.” Peter nudged him with an elbow. “Come on, you can sleep on the plane.”

“Will you sober up?”

“Sure.”

“Can I drive?”

“You’re- hic- like, fourteen.”

“I can still drive,” muttered Molossia, “and most importantly, I ain’t motherfuckin’ drunk.”

“I mean,” Sealand swayed as he spoke, “we can always change that.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Okay then!” At that, Sealand bolted for the door, dragging Molossia behind him, “let’s get going!”

…

Well, at least they were able to sleep on the plane. A little bit.

Right now, Molossia was trying his best to nod off in the passenger seat of a car Sealand was driving, but was failing for three reasons. One: Sealand was driving. Two: Sealand was driving. And three: Sealand was driving a motherfucking car with him in it!

Sure, the guy was far older than he looked, but he was still physically thirteen, and not to mention, there were no actual roads in his country to practice on. And so, the boy sped and swerved, a danger to himself, his unfortunate passenger, and practically anyone else on the same stretch of road- county even-, and Molossia was too busy trying not to have a stroke to actually fall asleep.

“Where the fucking frick are we even going?” he squealed, clutching at his seatbelt like that would somehow save him from losing his virginity and his life to the dashboard.

“England’s house,” Sealand called over from the driver’s seat.

“Why the fuck-!?”

“Like I said, I’m your cool, fun uncle, and I am going to take you on a cool, fun uncle day out covering England’s house in toilet paper!”

“And again: why the fuck?”

“Because he’s a stupid poo-head,” replied Sealand like it was the most obvious of facts. “And it’s fun.”

“But I like England…” Molossia mumbled. Still, at least the further into London they travelled, the slower Sealand’s driving became. But then again, so did everyone else’s.

“You might as well drop off again,” Sealand told him as they came to a complete standstill yet again, still absolutely nowhere close to England’s main house slap bang in the middle of Westminster. “It’s going to be a long ride.”

Molossia told him he had no intention of doing such a thing and he could shove his driving licence up places no driving licence had any business being shoved up.

…

“See, isn’t this fun?”

There was no way Molossia would admit it, but lobbing a barrage of rotten eggs and toilet paper at the fanciest terraced house in the centre of London in the early hours of the morning was making him giddy with happiness. 

Molossia didn’t like to break the rules, and was something of a goody two-shoes [besides his constant language and aggressive tone of voice] but he supposed it wasn’t really his fault if he was peer-pressured into doing it, as much as he respected Arthur and would love it if the older- by far- nation could recognise him. He couldn’t pin all his hopes though. Even Kosovo had blanked his letter of recognition. Or maybe their reply got lost in the mail. He could hope.

England would just blame Sealand anyway. Or anonymous human youths. His reputation wouldn’t take a hit because Sealand was a lot of things but he wasn’t a little snitch too, right?

“This is a fucking awful idea,” he growled, making sure to keep his voice low. He didn’t know how heavy a sleeper England was, though given that he was sleeping through the noise of the distant traffic, sirens and two foxes mating loudly, he wasn’t entirely worried at the prospect of being caught.

“But it’s pretty bant too,” tried Sealand, hurling an egg right at the window box, thankfully not disturbing any of the plants within, or Molossia would’ve kicked some ass. “Come on and have some fun for once! Do something cause it’ll be a laugh! Be Yolossia!”

He got a rotten egg to the face for that.

…

England’s day started out like any other. He turned off his alarm; slipped into a pair of slippers and dressing gown; and padded downstairs to make himself a cup of tea and some porridge. It was a nice, warm start to his days and helped him find the strength to move his [ever so slightly] creaking bones and joints about the place. Since it was a Saturday and he had the day to himself for once, he wondered if there were any property programmes he could snuggle into his armchair to watch, and failing that there had to be some bargain hunt on.

His dogs- Alan the old english sheepdog and Algernon the bulldog- followed with snuffles and wagging tails. Yes, yes, he’d get them breakfast in a moment.

England settled down into his armchair, soon dwarfed by Alan snuggling on his lap and nearly sending the porridge flying. Poor Algernon’s legs were too stubby to climb up on his nation’s lap, so he settled for curling up on Arthur’s slippers.

It was a perfect day, until Arthur looked out the window.

What looked like the strangest bird shit was drying, smeared across the glass and causing an unsightly shadow on the wall opposite. A flash of white also caught his attention, just blurry enough that he couldn’t quite tell what it was. Time to investigate.

“Sorry boys,” he murmured to his dogs, pushing Alan off his lap, heart panging at the animal’s pathetic whines. Alan would probably jump right back in his chair the moment he was out of sight though. Funny dog.

Arthur was still clutching his tea as he opened his front door, only to find a forest of white toilet paper covering his house and the tiny stretch of front garden, sheets held in place by drying egg. Arthur even stepped in a puddle of the stuff as he shuffled onto his porch to get a better look at the damage, cursing loudly as he wiped the sole of his slipper on the welcome mat.

Who the fuck?

It was France, wasn’t it? Though he could rule out his brothers or America and Australia. Maybe they’d all banded together in the hopes of finally triggering the stroke that would finish him off. Well, joke was on them because he was leaving them absolutely sod all in his will!

A small child pointed and laughed as its mother lead them to school, and that was when Arthur decided he wasn’t dealing with today, pouring his tea in the nearest flower pot and hobbled back to bed.


End file.
